


Candles on Christmas

by Moirai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Gen, tradition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 03:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moirai/pseuds/Moirai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is growing closer and closer to the holidays. Dean has had a tradition for this time of year ever since he was very young.  He may not be religious, he may not be guaranteed salvation because of it but it is a routine that he repeats every year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candles on Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> First fiction posted here to A03 and I wanted something a little light in anticipation of the upcoming holidays. Not everyone celebrates Christmas the same way after all...

 

_It is growing closer and closer to the holidays. Dean has had a tradition for this time of year ever since he was very young._

Dean has grown used to a lot of things. He is used to moving from place to place. He is used to meeting women and leaving them the morning after. He is used to the taste of fat-filled food and drinks that burn on their way down. He is used to running into battle with things that people would be running from. No matter how many times he moves around the country though, he is not used to substantial amounts of snow.

                He was raised in the easy-going temperatures of Kansas when he was younger and the harsh bite of the crystalized rain falling from the sky never had an appeal to him. People are rushing around in the city to buy presents, a certain cheer in the way they walk and in the way they smile. Dean is not one for keeping track of the date. He makes sure he sets an alert on his phone so he can buy Sammy a birthday gift when it approaches but, other than that, there is no benefit for him to X off the days of a calendar.

                This is the way Dean tells that it is growing closer to the holidays. If he isn’t in the North, where there is no snow or minimal amounts of it, he can tell by the way people walk and talk around him. There is something about the holidays that lightens the spirits of people. The people walking around, so blissfully unaware of the creatures that plague their town, are more giving, are more accepting and are more believing. Normally it would be good news for people. Bad news for Dean though, they are even more ignorant of dangerous in the night.

                Dean doesn’t have the most money but every year he goes out and buys small gifts for his brother. Right now, he and his brother are stuck in Buffalo, NY, snow central, in order to work a case about a possible haunting. People are going missing. People are dying. People are still shopping.

                Dean pulls his coat closer to him, swearing about the sudden drop in temperature and the heavy snow that is assaulting him as he makes his way to the Impala. Surely the snow is terrible for his baby. The salt eats away at its bumper and body and the constant wetness of winter means that Dean will have to be doing repairs and checkups after he leaves the East.

                Dean is not used to the snow. What is Dean used to though? Dean is used to Sam waiting in anticipation for the holidays, as if the calendar marker would mean something more than another shitty job, another crappy motel room and another night with greasy pizza and cheap beer. Dean is used to Sam nagging him to feel ‘cheerful’ in lieu of the holidays. He is used to Sam calling him a Grinch. Worst of all? Dean is used to losing people. So, ever since his mom tragically died in the fire when he was younger Dean has had a tradition.

                Dean jumps in the Impala while Sam is sleeping. He has done some research on the computer and he knows where he is going. After a good ten minutes of being assaulted by snow on the roads, he pulls up to a church.

                Now, Dean is most certainly not a religious person. After the apocalypse, after meeting angels and demons and the devil for crying out loud, his view of Christianity is intensely skewed. Most devout religious men didn’t even know that the Apocalypse came and went without any obvious signs. Most angels he met w ere dicks. Most demons he met were more dependable than their heavenly opposites. Granted, it was a different sort of dependable. At least, when you met them, you knew they were going to screw you over.

                Nonetheless, despite his lack of a religious affiliation, Dean enters the church and is greeted by a warm room. There is no one here. The pews are empty, there are candles lit but, other than that, everything is silent.

                He makes his way past the pews, past the rows of bibles and religious paintings. He feels a bit guilty standing in a religious, holy place after shouting obscene words to the all-powerful and absent God, after swearing out all the angels and after siding with demons on multiple occasions. He feels the weight on his legs, his pace slowing to a slow saunter. He makes his way all the way to the front where he stands in front of the altar, in front of a stand of hundreds of candles. Some are lit. Some aren’t.

                Making sure that no one is looking, Dean reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lighter. Dean knows he is not going to be saved. He is not going to be spared from his sins if God ever comes to collect but he knows, and he has had the feeling since birth, that there was some sort of God. He knows there is one now. He might be absent and he might not giving a flying damn about his creations but Dean knows that, somewhere out in the endless expanse of the universe, there is a god.

                Dean has done this since he was a little boy, crying for his mother.

                He reaches down and lights a candle. This is for Mary Winchester, his loving mother.

                He lights another.  This is for John Winchester, his father who went to hell for him.

                A third candle, this is for Adam Winchester. His half-brother who is now sitting in hell.

                Another candle. This is for Bobby Singer, his father for all intents and purposes.

                Another candle. This is for Sam’s girlfriend, Jessica.

                Another candle, This is for Anna, even though she tried to kill his family.

                Another candle, this is for Jo Harvelle.

                Another Candle, this is for Ellen Harvelle.

                Another candle for Samuel Campbell

                Another candle for Rufus Turner

                Another candle for Pamela Barnes.

                Another candle for Frank Devereaux.

                Another candle for Christian Campbell.

                Another candle for Gwen Campbell.

                Another candle for Amy Pond.

                Another candle for Gabriel.

                Finally, Dean lights a candle for everyone he has seen die in front of him. He lights it for the people he could have saved and didn’t. He lights it for all the victims.

                When he is done, Dean steps back after tucking his lighter into his pocket. The rows of candles that were previously unlit now are bright with 17 new flames. Every year, it seems like he is light more and more candles. The apocalypse seemed to add more light to the church.

                Dean wishes he would stop doing this ritual so he would be able to stop remembering. Every year though, be in consciously or not, he is heading down the road to the nearest church. He is lighting candles and falling into the past. It is more of an obligation now. He has gotten a lot of his closest friends and family killed. The least he can do is light a candle in a church one day a year. The least he can do is remember them.

                When Dean turns around to leave, there is a preacher sitting in the pews.

                “There are a lot of the candles there, son,” He speaks and Dean shakes his head.

                “There are never enough,” Dean starts walking to the pew and stops where the preacher sits. .

                “God keep their souls safe then,” The preacher makes the sign of the cross and looks at Dean expectantly. Dean does not follow after. He nods in a half-bow before the preacher, turning to walk away. “I’ll let their candles glow until Christmas night.”

                “Thank you,” Dean responds before walking away, out of the church. Six more nights and the light from the people he’s loved will be extinguished once again.

                He takes one last look at the candles and walks out of the church, stepping into the snow once again, letting the warmth and light from the candles drift away.

                Next year, he will only have more candles to light. 


End file.
